Everybody
by cheride
Summary: Sometimes you have to choose sides.


_This is a work of fanfiction, for entertainment purposes only. The characters and concepts of Hardcastle and McCormick do not belong to me, but to their creators._

**Author's Notes:** Just a brief note of thanks to Keith Urban, who's not only nice to listen to—and pretty easy to look at—but also makes a decent Muse from time to time.

* * *

**Everybody**

By Cheride

Hardcastle hadn't meant to eavesdrop. His conscience was clear on that point. Hell, he hadn't even known the kid was in the _house_, much less on the phone. But as he had instinctively moved to replace the receiver, he'd overheard the words clearly.

_It'll be a quick job, Skid; in and out. We've got it all scoped out, and you've got the magic touch._

He had frozen in place, listening for the response, not even aware that he had almost stopped breathing. The good-natured laugh that came first wasn't what he had hoped to hear, but the words that followed had calmed him somewhat.

_C'mon, Neil,_ McCormick had replied lightly, _you know better than that._

_It's good money, man, _Neil had said then_, and that judge'll never even know._

Mark's voice had gotten a little firmer. _I wouldn't count on that._ He paused. _And, besides, that's not even the point._

Hardcastle knew he had smiled just a little bit at that last comment. It had only been a few weeks, but he was sure there was hope for this one.

_Then what __is__ the point?_ Neil's voice had hardened, too_. We're friends. I need some help. And it's easy money._ He dropped back to a more companionable tone. _At least come look it over. It'll be quick._

_I'll come talk to you, _Mark had agreed with a small sigh. And just before he'd hung up the phone he'd added,_ Don't do anything until I get there._

A thousand responses had run through the judge's mind after he'd replaced the receiver on the hook, and he thought McCormick must've been doing some thinking, too, based on the amount of time that had elapsed before he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. But by the time the young man appeared in the doorway, he had made up his mind that he wasn't going to interfere. This had to be McCormick's decision.

"I've gotta go out for a while, Judge, if that's okay," was all McCormick had said.

And Hardcastle had forced himself to reply calmly, "What's up?"

The young man's response had been simple and singularly unenlightening. "A friend needs some help with something; I'm gonna go see what I can do."

"Anybody I know?"

A quick head shake. "Just a friend."

"Anybody I _should_ know?"

McCormick had quirked a small grin at that, but Hardcastle thought it might've had a guilty edge to it as the man had turned back toward the door. "I'll be back in a while, Judge."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

McCormick had faltered slightly on the top step when he'd heard the question, but then mumbled, "No, I've got it under control," and hustled out the door.

As he sat here now, alone in the den, Hardcastle could only hope the kid had been right about that, because he knew there was definitely hope for this one.

It was a couple of hours later when he finally heard the Coyote roaring up the driveway and allowed himself to relax. He had played out a lot of scenarios in his mind—it was amazing the things you could think of when all you were doing was staring at the same criminal file and second-guessing yourself—but all of them were centered on the certainty that if McCormick allowed himself to be talked into whatever job Neil had been offering, he wouldn't be back. He was convinced the young man couldn't walk back into this house and lie to him.

But he suddenly thought he might've been at least partially wrong about that when McCormick came slouching into the den, a glum expression painted on his face, and declared soberly, "I need to talk to you, Judge." Surely the kid wasn't actually going to _confess_?

Hardcastle looked across the desk evenly. "What's going on?" He surprised himself with how calm he sounded.

As Mark sank into one of the armchairs, it seemed he wasn't quite sure where to begin. His eyes roamed around the room then watched as his fingers traced an aimless pattern on the arm of the chair. He seemed to want to look anywhere but at Hardcastle.

"It's about my friend," he finally began, "the one who needed the help." But forcing out those few words seemed to have exhausted his determination, and he suddenly shook his head roughly. "Never mind," he said, moving to push himself to his feet. "It's just that I appreciate you not asking a lot of questions, that's all. I'll get started on the hedges now."

"I overheard your call," Hardcastle blurted, and the young man froze temporarily, halfway between seated and standing, then—almost in slow-motion—dropped back down into his chair.

After a few seconds of silent immobility, McCormick jerked his head around quickly, obviously looking for something. Or someone.

"We're alone," Hardcastle assured him.

It took a few more furtive glances toward the door before McCormick asked, "No cops?" He was clearly incredulous.

"No cops."

The ex-con melted against the back of the chair. "I can explain."

"I figured."

"He wanted some help with a job," McCormick began. "A jeweler. They—my friend and another guy—found out somehow about a shipment of stones; pretty small, easy to move. But they're not very good at getting in and out of places."

"And you are."

McCormick shrugged. "I dunno. Better than them, I guess."

Hardcastle smiled slightly. The kid hardly needed to be modest; he was well aware of the collection of skills that had brought them together.

Straightening up to face the judge directly, McCormick said plainly, "But I didn't do it."

The older man examined him for several seconds. "But you wanted to," he said at last.

"No," Mark contradicted firmly, "not really." He sighed, hesitated, then added reluctantly, "But I _wanted_ to want to."

"That doesn't make much sense, kid," Hardcastle told him bluntly.

McCormick seemed to give that some thought. "Probably not to you," he finally agreed.

"But you can explain."

"I'm not sure I can explain this. But I think the point should be that I came back."

"Maybe I need to know that you wanted to do that."

"You mean instead of just because I knew you'd find me?" McCormick snorted. "Well, you gotta admit, that is a pretty good incentive." Then he sobered. "No, I wanted to come back." He didn't meet the other's eyes as he added softly, "But maybe I'm not sure I wanted to want to."

Hardcastle waited. As much as he didn't understand what the young man was talking about, he recognized its importance, and he was confident McCormick would find a way to get it out.

"Remember when Teddy was here, Judge?" McCormick began slowly.

"I think I'd remember you hiding another ex-con in my gatehouse, McCormick," Hardcastle answered dryly, "even if it hadn't been just a week ago."

"Oh, yeah, okay. Well, the thing is, you know, you never asked me why I did that."

"You said he was a friend," Hardcastle said simply.

McCormick's eyes widened slightly; he seemed surprised Hardcastle would've accepted such an easy answer. "He is a friend," he agreed. "And he's a friend who still trusts me, even now."

"What's not to trust?" Hardcastle demanded.

"You really don't get it," McCormick said bitterly, with a shake of his head. "Even Teddy told me not to forget that it was supposed to be 'us against them', and that you're a 'them'. The problem, Hardcastle, is that Teddy's one of the few people left who still considers me an 'us'."

"Well, if you're wanting to choose up teams, sport, I think you're lookin' to be on the wrong one."

"And just which team do you think I _should_ be choosing?" the ex-con asked hotly, leaning forward to glare at the older man. "You might not've noticed, but your side's not so eager to have me suit up."

"What're you talking about?" the judge asked, eyebrows knitted in confusion. "Where did this come from?"

"I don't belong here, Judge."

The words had been spoken softly, but the near despair was unmistakable.

"And you think you belong somewhere else? Somewhere where it's important that you know how to get in and out of places?"

McCormick shook his head slowly. "No. I don't belong there anymore, either. If I'd had any doubts about that, I figured it out for sure today."

"So you don't belong anywhere?"

"Now you're getting the point."

"Well, I agree that you don't belong with this morning's jewelry store crowd, but who says you don't belong here?"

"Everybody."

"What do you mean, 'everybody'?" Hardcastle asked, exasperated.

"I mean everybody. My friends. Your friends. _Everybody_."

"I think you're forgetting somebody kinda important," the judge told him.

McCormick raised an eyebrow at him. "Me? I sure as hell don't know."

"I think you do. You're here, aren't you, instead of sitting somewhere counting out your share of gems? And besides, what about me? Don't I get a vote?"

"Hah. You get the final vote, but you can't change what other people think. And besides, you're part of the problem, ya know. You're the one that said this was gonna be strictly business; the one that made it sound simple to remember whose side I was on. You're the one that said we weren't gonna be friends."

Hardcastle gave him a small wink as he settled back against his chair. "For what it's worth, I mighta been wrong about that."

McCormick leaned back into his own chair and, in spite of the tension still on his face, a tiny smile twitched at the corner of his lips.

Hardcastle tried to put it together; he wanted to make sure he understood. "So this morning, when this Neil guy called, you liked the idea of someone who still thought you belonged."

"That's about it," Mark admitted.

He rubbed at his forehead. "I can kinda get the idea that your old crowd might find this set-up a little unusual, but I don't understand why you say my friends think you don't belong here."

"That's because you don't see it; they don't _let_ you see it. The suspicious looks and the whispered conversations. Even the occasional direct comment. Some of 'em think you're crazy; most all of 'em think I'm scamming you."

Hardcastle scowled. "Who?"

But McCormick shook his head. "It doesn't matter who, Judge; that's not the point. The point is this whole thing is weird. And there's not much getting around the fact that I'm the odd man out."

Hardcastle thought for a moment, then waved a hand in the air. "None of that matters. What matters is what we think, McCormick, you and me, and I don't think you're scamming me. Like I said, you're here, right?"

Finally, McCormick seemed relieved. "Right." And then he grinned. "Of course, that doesn't really change the fact that you _are_ actually crazy."

The judge laughed briefly. Then he leaned forward again, elbows on his desk. "But you never finished telling me about today."

"I went to see Neil. I'd already told him no—I guess maybe you heard that part?—but he still wanted me to come, and I won't deny that it was tempting, at least for a second or two.

"But by the time I got there, I'd come to my senses. I told 'em no, and I meant it. Then I tried to talk them out of the job entirely. Neil, he really isn't that good. Strictly small-time accessory stuff; there was no way he was gonna pull off this job by himself. I told him he was gonna end up inside, and I told him he sure as hell didn't want that."

Hardcastle smiled across at him. "Sounds like pretty good advice from someone who doesn't know what team they're supposed to be playing for."

McCormick shrugged. "It didn't work. They said they were going ahead without me."

"Trying to guilt you into helping."

"It almost worked," the young man confessed. "More than anything else they'd said, the idea of them getting in over their heads when I knew I could make a difference . . . that was crazy. And it really wasn't going to be a hard job; they'd given me the details. We coulda been in and out in less than fifteen minutes."

"But you still said no," Hardcastle said confidently.

"That never really was the stuff I was into, Judge; I sure didn't want to start now."

Hardcastle nodded slowly, thinking through his next question carefully. "I don't want to force you to choose sides, McCormick . . ." He paused briefly, but it had to be said. "But I need to know about this Neil and the job he did today. We can't just let that go."

But McCormick was shaking his head. "I thought about calling the cops myself, but I couldn't. The whole point was to keep him _out_ of trouble."

"So then I guess you've chosen sides after all," the judge said quietly.

"Don't give up on me so easily, Hardcase. As soon as Neil took off, I hightailed it over toward the jewelry store myself." He grinned slightly. "The other thing he doesn't do as well as I do is drive; I got there first. I found a kid around the block and gave him twenty bucks to throw a brick through the display window. By the time Neil got there about two minutes later, every alarm in the place was already going off."

Hardcastle flashed him a toothy grin. "That was pretty good thinking, kid."

McCormick grinned back. "The one upside of being the odd man out," he told the judge, "is that I'm getting pretty good at walking the line between the sides. Besides, I sure didn't want to come back here and tell you that Tonto went and let the outlaws outsmart him."

Hardcastle found that he couldn't stop the grin from spreading. "So you do get it after all. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks."

McCormick's eyebrow rose. "Doesn't matter that my friends think I sold out and your friends think I'm a fraud? Or that pretty much everyone thinks you've been hittin' the peanuts too hard?"

"Nah, none of that matters. Those teams you're worrying about, they're old news. It's you and me now, kid; we're our own team. And I think you do know that; that's why you're here."

"Yeah?" McCormick looked at him thoughtfully. "Maybe you're right. And is that why you let me leave?"

Hardcastle gave a small shrug. "Everybody has to decide for themselves. I knew you'd choose right."

"I do figure we're gonna be a pretty good team, Hardcase, hard as that is to believe."

The judge was smiling as he slipped the file folder from his desk and out of sight into the bottom drawer. "Me too, kid, me too."


End file.
